Connor - Requiem
by A Penguin Named Jack
Summary: His involvement in the Revolution had become lost in days of the past. He had no desire to fight in the new conflict against Britain. But when Templars show up at the Homestead eager for revenge, Connor is forced from retirement to defend his family and town. FINAL UPDATE! Afterwards added.
1. The Old Man on the Hill

**Chapter 1 – The Old Man on the Hill**

Everyday the old man who lived in the mansion on the hill took his stroll through the homestead. He would greet all he met on his path. The townsfolk consisted of people he had known as he helped the town in the time of Revolution grow to its current sprawl, their children and grandchildren. They in turn had helped attract a flock of wayward travelers to the town, bringing in revenue and more residence. The man made his path towards the lumber mill, and he made a passing wave to the young men who leaned against the building smoking pipes. The old man passed the inn and he considered stopping for a swig or nibble but continued his walk. At the seamstress's house, he told Maria that the Virgin Islands had called for an extra order of fancy wigs. He quietly advised her to complete the order at her own leisure. The old man trudged to the farm where the colored man he'd help deliver was currently tending to the wheat field. The chocolate-colored dog at his side noticed the old man and barked in recognition. The old man smiled and bent down to stroke the dog. "Hello, Primrose."

"I could use some acknowledgement too, elder." The colored man jokingly noted to the old man. "My mistake, Hunter. Has your wife prepared the shipment of eggs?" Hunter nodded and pointed to a crate near the chicken pen. "What a pity. The country has been locked in President Madison's war for close to two years now and yet Murdoch's Barter still has the nerve to send for their regular orders. If it weren't for my age, I'd consider enlisting as a privateer. The Aquila has been out of action for the quite the stretch now. Ah well, some dollars here for your troubles." The old man slipped Hunter some coins and he strolled towards the eggs. As he walked he examined the fine white spheres, seeing no cracks. "Hey, elder!" Hunter called to him as he walked away. "Something's been killing the livestock. Just today, I found a beheaded, half-eaten cow!" "I will investigate, Hunter." The old man called back. The old man deposited the eggs near the workers who were readying the convoy, and he was off. The old man returned to the mansion but he decided it was not yet time to slip inside. The old man continued his saunter, finally stopping at three graves which overlooked the harbor.

"I hope you are proud, old man." Connor stated as he nodded to Achilles' grave. As he glanced at Aquila stationed at the pier, a jolt of memories hit Connor. _The stern man in the blue tri-tipped hat and coat berates his ability to captain the ship, as Connor tries to ignore him staying focused on the speeding schooner parallel to the Aquila. He can't afford to let Benjamin Church escape, the man who had betrayed both the stern man and the Revolutionary war effort. With a command, the ship's cannons releases dozens of chain shots at the schooner and the crew cheer as the schooner's mast collapsed. "Men, prepare to board-"but Connor was never able to finish his command as the man in blue knocked him aside. Connor demanded what he intended, which his father merely yelled that he was ending it. As they boarded the stranded vessel, Connor quickly stabbed the officers that had opposed him with the saw-toothed blade he had discovered in a lost Mayan ruin. He had frantically chased after Haytham into the ship's hull, hoping to reach Church before his father did. _

He didn't know it, but this would be the final time that father and son would come together in alliance before the fateful meeting with Washington destroyed all of Connor's naïve hopes for the future and everything he thought he could believe in. Connor felt little remorse when he plunged his hidden blade deep into Haytham's throat as his father strangled him at Fort George. Connor felt nothing as the warm scarlet blood of the man stained his clothing and skin. Connor wanted to show the dying Haytham that he too wouldn't weep and dream of what could have been. But Haytham had predicted this. In a final action for his son, Haytham had left behind his personal journal. It served its purpose well. Connor still didn't know what to make of his father, even as one himself, but he missed Haytham almost as much as his mother or Achilles.

After the redcoats had been driven from the colonies, Connor had been present on the date of their evacuation. The Assassin couldn't help but give a thin smile as he watched the New Yorkers celebrate their newfound independence and he almost found a laugh when the departing British ships fired a few warning shots and the colonists scattered. Yet, the smile quickly subsided when he looked back towards the city. A loudmouthed man in a fine coat and pantaloons was energetically attempting to sell a family of shabby dressed African slaves to a gathering crowd. Connor felt a beast growing within him, and he had to prevent himself from rushing the man with his tomahawk held high. What good was the revolution for independence, if its fighters gave such a freedom only to the highest on the social ladder? _Ratohnhaketon_ would've slaughtered the slave seller and the bidders. But _Ratohnhaketon_ was long buried, and Connor Kenway walked in the body that was once his. Connor had sworn to follow the Creed, to never harm an innocent, even if that "innocent" was someone as disgusting enough to degrade a fellow being to the role of a caged animal.

In the months following the assassination of Charles Lee and the colonist victory, Connor felt nothing but disillusionment. He was forced between the freedom of the colonists and the preservation of his own people, in spite of his own efforts to find a balance between the both. In the end, he failed both. True freedom was still a glacial work in progress, and his people had long moved on by the time he finally chose to return. His melancholy grew as he learned that it was the work of men who he had chose to support like Washington that had forced the Kaniehkehaka to move westward. Washington… how could Connor have been so naïve? As a weary and world-traveled man, Connor pondered that question. The animosity that Connor felt towards Washington gradually subsided, but it would take more than a few uneven games of bowls to mend the shattered respect Connor felt towards Washington. Connor eventually recovered from his depression and through his own form of compromise, he readily embarked down the mysterious road shrouded in darkness.

Much time had passed since the Brigadier General Charles O'Hara surrendered to General Benjamin Lincoln at Yorktown on behalf of their respective commanders. The treaty written at Paris was but a memory set in stone. The Revolution had succeeded, and the world moved on. Connor himself hardly reminisced about the part he had played in freeing the colonists from British rule. He had been there at Lexington and Concord, Bunker Hill, Monmouth, the Chesapeake, and many more skirmishes but they hardly mattered. His enemies and reason for fighting was not a nation, but the ideals that the Revolution sought to end. Still, he sometimes thought about the men that he had met and found himself conspiring with as they drew him into a fight for freedom. Washington needed no introduction. Connor fondly recalled scolding Washington in New York as he heard of the commander's desire to exchange his duties as leader for a life of quiet retirement. Connor didn't know how much of an impact his words had on Washington, but he couldn't call himself surprised when Washington finally accepted his duties as president. Connor had feared for the worst when Washington took over, that the colonists may have simply swapped one crown for another. But in a breath of relief, Washington proved to be a far superior president than a military commander or friend. The two saw each other a few more times through the course of his leadership and his retirement, but Washington's abrupt death from pneumonia ended the likelihood of any future meetings. Not that Connor completely missed Washington. He had remembered a chance encounter in the frontier with Washington, who was carrying the golden sphere which Achilles had called the Apple. The memory of what happened afterwards was a haze for Connor, but he knew that the dealings had left him a changed Assassin. Perhaps even a small part of him had died when Washington showed him the Apple.

What of the others? Although he regrettably had minimal contact with the late Benjamin Franklin, Connor still owned the honor of speaking with the man on several occasions. Franklin was one of the individuals keen enough to connect Connor and Haytham's bond, but seeing Connor's discomfort he had kept the knowledge to himself. Connor had been tasked by Franklin to finish the work he'd given Haytham. Connor was alarmed at first, but his suspicion of Franklin's true allegiance had faded when he found out it was to simply reacquire some stolen pages of Franklin's. After the war, Connor had spent a few days in both Boston and New York sprinting across the rooftops and alleyways. Dodging the overzealous rooftop patrols, Connor had managed to find all of Franklin's pages. He had returned them to the blissful man, but not before he in curiosity had his friends at the homestead to craft a few of the bits and pieces detailed within. Connor's personal favorite of the inventions copied was the item that the pages had called Joseph Priestley's Soda Apparatus.

William Molineux, who had helped him dump the tea, had fallen during the early days of the Revolution. Samuel Adams, the one that Connor truly considered a friend, lived to see the great day for freedom. Yet, he too died following the new century and Connor regretted not being able to pay him one final visit. He wasn't even sure if others like Israel Putnam were still alive but Connor made no attempts to find if they had died or were somewhere within the colonies. Paul Revere was still alive and somewhere in Boston, but Connor felt no need to seek him out. It hadn't been the most pleasurable of experiences, being seated on a horse that had no interest in serving Connor while Revere barked directions in his ear. He had accompanied Lafeyette to France to aid his European brothers as their French rose in their own revolution but Connor had not heard from the man since he departed the country.

It had been a while since Connor had last soared across the rooftops of cities and branches of the frontier, and even longer since he had plunged his hidden blade into another's flesh. Given the remarkable shape of his body for a man in his late fifties, Connor was sure that he could still accomplish all those tasks with the ease of the youthful Assassin he once was. But the world had moved on. Connor saw in the future no need to don the white hood once again. Following his return from chaotic France with his future wife, Connor had finally hung up the Assassin robes in the armory. Dressed again in the attire of the Kaniehkehaka, Connor felt a painful feeling that he couldn't express. Connor's work was done. The American Brotherhood that had been annihilated by Templars thrived again, thanks to the efforts of Connor and other Assassins that had sprung up in the colonies.

One day long ago, it had just been him with six striving recruits. Today, the Assassin Brotherhood had spread its wings to all corners of America, which itself had added to the original thirteen colonies. Connor, with his aspiration of rebuilding the Brotherhood accomplished, slipped away quietly with his family to retirement on the Homestead. He left Stephane in charge. Connor's sole request to the Mentor who had once been his student was to leave him in peace, unless the situation grew dire enough to call for his return.

"Papa, come quickly! There were men at the mansion who wanted to speak with you!" Connor's remembrance was snapped by the voice of his daughter Charlotte. Connor smiled at his energetic child and brushed his fingers through her fine brown hair. "Well, run back and tell them that I'll be along eventually. There are some words I need to give to the old man here." He motioned to Achilles' grave. The eleven year-old Charlotte knew little of Connor's former life but she understood enough to know the significance of the old man to Connor. "Papa, I think you should still come! The men looked serious, and there were many of them. Some of them were wearing these peculiar hoods and carrying weapons!"

Like a veil being lifted, Connor's expression changed. He nodded to Charlotte and ran after his child back to the mansion. As they reached the stables, three men dressed in unique garb went to meet them. Connor surveyed them. One was a native of the land like Connor. As Connor glanced from the native's white hood to his multicolored shawl to his moccasins to the tomahawk hanging by his torso, Connor wondered if this man was of the same people as he. Connor instinctively stepped in front of Charlotte, his hands motioning for a blade that wasn't there. Following him was a scrawnier man dressed in a brown leather coat with metallic fixings. The man's features were largely hidden by his large hat and scarf, but Connor saw a twinge of instability in his eyes. He was twirling a hook with his index finger. The youngest looking of the bunch wore a gray tri-tip hat with red accents with a similarly colored uniform. The dress of the man reminded Connor of his own father, and there was something worryingly familiar about him. The young man appeared to be in charge of the three men, and his stony expression eased as he saw Connor. He beckoned to Connor, showing him that he had no intentions of harming him or his family. Connor eased, and he walked to greet the strangers.

"I see the Mentor wasn't lying when he said you'd put your ties with the Brotherhood at rest, Connor. You aren't even carrying the bracer."

Connor's eyes grew as he at last recognized the man in front of him.

"Matthew?"

"I'm surprised you even remember me, with this new wife and child of yours." He muttered while waving to Charlotte. "Dobby would've sent her regards, Connor, but it's rather hard to come up with words when you've been claimed by yellow fever. I see you're shocked. But I sympathize, Connor. There's no reason to keep track of your first love when you're busy running across Paris."

"Why don't we head inside, Matthew? I'm sure we can discuss whatever news you've brought in the mansion."


	2. Father and Son

**Chapter 2 – Father and Son**

Connor and his son sat across from each other in the dining table. Several platters of food and drink had been laid across from them, but only Connor and the two Assassins who had followed Matthew were eating. At least Connor hoped they were eating, as he inquisitively observed the leather-clad man in the hat mutter to himself while assembling a miniature cabin out of deer jerky pieces. His son simply watched at him with a detached gaze while fondling an apple. In between a bite of shepherd's pie, Connor finally spoke up. "You aren't eating, Matthew, whereas your two companions are taking the full brunt of Davenport's hospitality. Is it my choice of courses? I can send for the innkeepers to prepare some cider and jugged hare for you. Just today one of our huntresses brought in a fresh bundle of hares. Or is it your stomach? The doctor can arrange a remedy if I as-"

Matthew raised his hand demanding Connor's silence. "I'm feeling splendid, father. I'd take the liberty of indulging myself, but I feel that the news I bring you should be delivered alone away from this dinner. I shan't risk stirring up superfluous qualms of your kin." He motioned to Charlotte and the aging woman who sat next to Connor. "For all I know, what I bring of the Templar plans may be a false alarm, and it would be a pity to get your child frightened for nothing." The old woman piped up with an accented voice, and for a brief moment Connor saw the lines of age on Frederique's face fade away into the foreign beauty she once possessed.

"Boy, I've have faced Templar agents alongside Connor multiple times. You honestly think that a hardened veteran of the French Revolution like me couldn't handle a few more?" She gave a teasing smirk to Matthew.

"Mother, what's a Templar?" Charlotte piped in. Matthew seemed appalled as the final word came out of her mouth.

"Everything you've done for the Brotherhood, and you've kept it a secret from your own child?" Matthew almost snarled at Connor. "Have you even told her about big man Haytham and poor poor Kaniehtiio?" Charlotte's expression grew more curious as Matthew mentioned the names of her grandparents. Connor had told her their names and passing tidbits but she knew little of the people they had been.

"Enough." Connor rose from his chair. Matthew had never behaved in this manner when he was a child as Connor trained him in the ways of the Assassins. But something had happened to him after Connor had departed for France, and there was a tide of resentment. "We shall speak in private, Matthew."

"What of your pie, Connor?" Frederique chimed in.

"Give it to our little artist here. I'm certain he'll enjoy it." Connor smiled at the Assassin playing with the deer jerky, who seemed lost in his own world.

"You seem to be teetering over an edge, Matthew. You seem quite in contrast to when I last saw you as a child." Connor confessed to his son as they conferred in one of the second floor's trophy rooms.

"I've changed, father. In the first years of your absence, my heart hungered for you to return and tell me more of your Assassin stories. I once cried to Mother why you hadn't returned yet. I waited years for you to come back from France, but I gradually accepted that it was a long wait coming. We eventually moved from the Homestead to New York." Matthew replied while fingering the model of the Aquila.

"When Zenger's apprentice reported to me that you had finally sailed into New York, I rushed to meet you. I was ecstatic, despite having buried Dobby in the same year. But when I saw you in the Hall with Chapeau, with that French woman at your side, I felt something within me shrivel. You barely gave me a passing glance, and by the time I reached Chapeau, the two of you vanished into the crowd. I don't believe you even knew who I was." Matthew paused, and Connor for a brief moment saw the eyes of a betrayed child.

"Chapeau told me that you had chosen to retire from the Order. He was under request by you to not tell anyone the path you'd taken. Not even me. I easily figured out you'd be introducing the Homestead to your French friend, but I kept my distance. I had no need for a man who abandoned both his family and his order."

Matthew's attitude reminded Connor how he felt towards his own father after the fateful meeting with Washington at Valley Forge. Matthew continued as Connor took the moment to ponder his son's words. "Deborah died faithful to you; fortunately before you returned. The last thing that my mother needed to complement her fever was the knowledge that you might've left her."

"Why have you returned, Matthew?" Connor felt the buried beast within begging him for release, to make the man in front regret his insolence.

Matthew strolled to another one of the rooms, where Connor had stored Franklin's inventions. Connor watched as his son straightened the hanging portrait of Franklin. "Truth is, father, I would never have returned here under regular circumstances. But you still were Assassin in the end, as am I. It would be a dishonor to have discovered a Templar plot against the legendary Connor Kenway and not warn him."

Connor was shocked. "What? Why would the Templars be after me? I retired long before they manipulated the States and Britain into the current conflict. Why should they have their sights on a retired Assassin?"

"Seems your good friend Charles Lee left a few protocols in place in the event that you assassinated him before he could escape Boston." Matthew took from the inside of his coat several documents. "These all detail a revenge plan for the Templars to follow. You see, Connor, they're still rather sore at you for disabling their American branches during the Revolution. When to strike, where to strike, how to strike, Lee detailed it all."

"It appears that I have underestimated Lee's brilliance. It was my mistake to think of him as just Haytham's lap dog, a brute that needed a severe case of discipline. But why did they wait until now? The Templars could've struck at any time following his death."

"That's the brilliance of the protocols, don't you see? Lee was counting on you to reach the point in life where your deadliness would've softened at just the right time. The Americans would've grown suspicious if their own Continental army destroyed one of their own settlements like the Davenport Homestead. But during a war with Britain, who'd bat an eye if a regiment of redcoats razed an enemy town? Don't get me wrong, Connor. You weren't the reason the Templars on both sides of the Atlantic manufactured this war. Disposing you and your family just happened to be nice bonuses on their hypothetical benefits list."

Connor felt an overwhelming weight wash over him. His mind flashed in bits and pieces. He saw the residents of the Homestead bayoneted over and over again by laughing Templar troops as the town burned. His mind flashed to his daughter, bloodied and bruised. Tears streamed down Charlotte's cheek, completely oblivious to the ancient conflict which has led to the destruction of her home. With a chuckle, the rotting corpse of Charles Lee pulls the trigger. Lastly, the nightmarish fantasy gives way to a memory that has long haunted him. All this happened in the fraction of a second.

The huts and longhouses around him burn. People scream and bark orders as they desperately tried to battle the flames. Chaos is everywhere, but he has to find her. The young boy scrambles across blazing structures until he finds the right shed. He hears her calling, and he calls back to tell her he's coming. The native woman is right there, and he almost thinks that everything will be alright. Then he sees the beam pinning her body. With a strained grunt, the boy tries to lift the wood but he is far too little to free the woman. She tells to leave but choking through tears the boy swears to not leave until he frees her. He keeps trying to lift the beam as tears blind his eyes. The woman tells him that she'll always be at his side, always and forever. A passing villager sees the boy and starts to carry him for safety. The boy protests, begging to save his mother. As the roof started to cave, the woman's last words to the boy were "I love you." In the moment where his childhood ends, Ratonhnhake:ton screams for his mother as the longhouse goes up in flames.

The savage being awakens.

Ratonhnhake:ton licks his lips and growls the words "Never again." The helplessness and anguish that plagued the child has grown into something else, more deadly and determined.

Matthew stiffens. Something has changed about his father. He seems more hateful and emotional than the kind-at-heart and reserved Assassin he was berating just moments before.

Then the shadows on the Assassin's face ease. Connor's struggling and he mumbles to himself. "Not now. Why can't I let you go?"

Matthew knows that Connor's not addressing him or anyone he knows. For just a brief moment, he worries about his father.

_They've come back, Ratonhnhake:ton, to destroy your village and kill everyone that you've ever loved all over again. You couldn't punish Washington but now the fresh meat will be coming right to you. Like the moth that burns in the candle. Connor can't do it, but you can. Wake up, Ratonhnhake:ton. SHOW NO MERCY!_

Connor collapses and Matthew rushes to support him.

Darkness.

**In one of the interviews for The Tyranny of King Washington with the creative director for the DLC, I was intrigued when I read that the three installments would explore the conflict between Connor's assassin and native side. Indeed as (SPOILERS) he does seem to be a tinge more sadistic than normal assassin Connor after getting those weird superpowers in the Infamy. Due to its story-telling potential, I decided to add my own take on the Connor/Ratonhnhake:ton divide in this story. **


	3. A Dream of Futility

**Chapter 3 – A Dream of Futility**

Connor saw the nightmare scenario play in his mind. He felt the darker side of himself briefly resurge. Then Connor saw nothing but darkness himself.

"Ratonhnhake:ton! Wake up!" he heard the unfeasible voice call again. Connor opened his eyes, and he to little shock saw the face of Kaniehtiio. He knew for that instant he had to be dreaming. This hadn't been the first time that his dead mother had returned to him while he slept, but it hadn't occurred for such a long time. Not since his encounter with Washington's apple.

"Mother… what are you doing here?" He croaked as she helped him from the bed to his feet. Connor looked in the mirror.

"Don't you remember? I'm here to visit you and Deborah, to see my grandson Matthew for the first time." Connor then noticed that his mother did not appear her normal self. She looked like the victim of a burning, blackened and hairless.

"This can't be, mother! You died long before my first marriage, how could you know the names of my wife and child? You couldn't have…" Connor sobbed as he embraced his mother, who had started to feel of ash as smoke came from her body. She held onto him tight.

"Everything will be all right, Ratonhnhake:ton. It was a promise when I said I would never leave you, even in death." Connor closed his eyes and when he opened them again, Kaniehtiio was slowly disintegrating. He maintained his grip, not wanting to let go. His mother's ashes drifted away in a pleasant wind.

"Be brave, Ratonhnhake:ton. For me and everyone." His mother gave one final smile, and Connor found himself holding nothing but her ashes. He dropped them in despair. Why was he being tormented by visions when he had left his Assassin days behind? Connor dropped to his knees. "Mother…"

"That's very sweet of you, Connor. I hadn't known the extent of love you feel towards your mother. Just a shame that you didn't show the shame for me." Another woman's voice told Connor. He looked up to see Deborah Carter, looking as attractive as she did when he first met in New York.

"Why'd you do it, Connor? Leave me behind for your whorish French wife? Do you know what precious Frederique did before overthrowing monarchies?" Carter snapped at him. She kicked him in the chest, knocking him over.

"I thought you had died, Dobby… when I returned to the Homestead one of the mineworkers told me that they had discovered your destroyed caravan. Stephane told me nothing of you when I returned!" Connor protested to the irate woman.

"Is that your excuse, Connor? Just because some people tell you that I may have passed you make no attempts to find me? You fucking pathetic bastard…" She backhanded him as Connor tried to rise.

"I'm sorry." was all Connor managed to say.

"I died faithful to you, Connor, thinking that you would eventually return for me from France. Matthew never told me how he saw you with your new wife, he knew it would break me for good. I'm sure she's a good person at heart, but I can't say the same for you." Connor noticed that her appearance too had changed. She was much older, and her eyes were very red. She held in head in intense pain. She walked as if all her muscles and joints ached. Dobby vomited on the ground. Her vomit was black.

"Excuse me, Connor." Deborah Carter briskly strolled away from Connor, seemingly oblivious to the symptoms of the fever that had claimed her life in the real world.

He saw in the distance a village. Connor stumbled towards the village and he realized he was carrying his tomahawk and pivot blades again. The village looked like his childhood home from the distance but as he grew closer it morphed into an amalgamation of the village and the Homestead. Had the dream given him the opportunity to prevent both the past and future? Connor determinedly trudged towards the village, but it grew farther and farther away the more he walked.

A deep snow had formed. The bitter weather stung Connor's exposed face like a sharp knife and he coughed. Without warning, Connor collapsed face first. "Awfully dreadful weather, isn't it? But I like it, reminds me of home." He wasn't surprised who said those words.

"Father. You are dead." Connor told the man in the blue hat as he lifted Connor by the arm.

"Sure saw to that, didn't you?" Haytham told him in a mocking tone. His clothes were stained in murky blood. Haytham lifted his neck and pointed his finger to a puncture where fresh blood was seeping out. "But still, like I told you when I died, you do make me proud in a way Connor."

Haytham was carrying a mug filled with a brown liquid. A white haze rose from the mug in the cold night. "Care for a taste, Connor? My father sometimes took me to a place in London where they served this by the gallon."

Connor took the mug from Haytham. He tasted the liquid which was creamy in consistency and sweet in taste. He enjoyed it and would've had more, but Haytham snatched the mug from him. "Can't have you drinking all my cocoa, Connor. I don't mean to play the miser's part, but I'd rather you freeze to death than I."

"Do you hate me, father?" Connor finally asked Haytham who had been humming a tune he didn't recognize.

"You? I suppose I am a bit irritated at you after all these years. But it's quite justified. After all, you did kill all my friends, shattered the grand plans I had to improve this new country's future, and most of all you killed me. That's what I get for giving you a fighting chance for choosing to strangle instead of shooting. But still, in death, I have been able to do a little bit of traveling around the world."

Haytham continued his speech to Connor as they walked through the snow.

"I'd talked to a multitude of interesting figures, both Templar and Assassin. Have you ever met Altair Ibn-La'Ahad? Even as an Assassin rat, he's still an awe-inspiring figure. Without him, I'm sure your little clubhouse would still be a few insignificant men in hoods scurrying around in Jerusalem. Ezio was fascinating as well, but his views are a bit too black and white for my tastes. Like you when we first met. But I don't blame him. The Borgias were a ghastly tumor on the Templar cause. I'm still looking for my own father, to see if he's fine with the path that I took in my life. I've also tasted the best from every corner of the globe. Food, I mean. Women would be an insult to Ziio's memory. Have you ever seen a lion, Connor? Majestic beasts, and absolutely murderous. The females more so than the males."

"None of this dream makes sense…" Connor muttered to himself, but Haytham heard.

"Of course none of this makes sense, you naïve simpleton! It's a bloody dream, Connor, where anything goes! This is what your mind wants you to see at the moment, and if it's your dead father talking about how he had noodles with Shao Jun, so be it." Haytham take a swig of the cocoa and smiled at a memory he didn't disclose to Connor.

"Are you just going to rabble about your oh-so-grand travels, father, or do you have something more important to tell me?"

"Let me just tell you one thing, Connor. There's no such thing as a clean getaway. You thought that once you killed Lee that the Templars would let it be? You thought that after stopping the Legislative Assembly that you could just give up your duties and leave?" Haytham and Connor had reached a pale horse. Haytham mounted the horse and Connor looked at his father.

"No Connor, this is where father and son must part. But aren't you glad that we had a completely civilized conversations without you chopping someone up with your adorable tomahawk or you whining about me killing captives after interrogation?"

"Father…" But Haytham cut Connor off.

"You have your own duties as a father now, to both of them. There's no point in dwelling on me when your own children can allow you to have the relationship that we never had. You and Matthew risk repeating history. Don't let that happen over again." With that, Haytham galloped into the snowstorm.

Connor struggled by himself through the storm, trudging through the wind and snow. He thought he saw the village burning and knew that it was urgent he arrive to the rescue.

But it seemed so far away. The season had transitioned to summer. It would be so easy to just lie down and have a quick rest to regain his strength. "Mustn't compromise. Village needs me. Not… now. Must save my people…"

"Inspiring choice of words. But it's too late for your village, your people and you!" A heavy boot dug deep into Connor's abdomen. He grunted in pain and collapsed to the dirt. Connor moaned as the man kicked him again. Connor rolled to his side, managed to look up, and saw the face of Charles Lee.

"All Big Boy Haytham wanted to do with his 'lil savage was have nice 'lil chat. But y'see, we ain't so inclined to show such generosity!" Another voice with a different accent. A man in a bloodstained Patriot soldier's uniform pointed his pistol at Connor. "This one's for depriving me of next day's beer and titty, Indian."

Charles Lee moved and took the pistol from Hickey's hand. "No Thomas, not yet." Thomas Hickey's face scrunched in disappointment but it suddenly his expression lit up. "Of course, you damned smartass, Charles! We 'ought to make our little savage suffer for his crimes against the Order." Nicholas Biddle nodded as Thomas said this.

The three Templars began to viciously beat Connor, and he felt several bones crack. Charles and Hickey mocked him in-between blows. Nicholas spat on Connor before delivering a forceful lash to Connor's side. "This is for sinking the Randolph, boy!" Connor thought he saw William Johnson and John Pitcairn in the background. Their faces contained looks of pity for Connor's plight, but they wouldn't interfere with their comrade's intentions. Shaking their heads, Johnson and Pitcairn walked off.

"We'd finish you off, Connor, but y'see there's someone else here who wants see you." Charles Lee grinned as he held Connor's bloodied and bruised face. "But still, it will be a pleasure to watch your Homestead finally burn. Especially when we take your little girl, boy, and wife out back and slit them."

"I'll fucking kill you, Charles." Connor managed to snarl which made Charles and his companions laugh again.

"You already did, don't you remember? You killed all of us! Can't do it again, sweetheart!" Hickey enunciated while Charles guffawed. The three laughing Templars strode off and he thought he heard Biddle say "If only Church could've joined us…"

Connor prayed to no one that he would soon wake up from this torment. But no such mercy had arrived yet. He continued to crawl towards the village. It seemed closer now; maybe he could make it in time. In the shadows, he saw a man he didn't identify. "Please… help me. I have to save my people."

The stranger stepped towards him, making his features slightly more visible but he didn't leave the shadows. He was a light-skinned man with a thin layer of shady brown hair. The stranger dressed peculiarly. His white jacket, blue pants, and black shoes appeared to be of a style unfamiliar to Connor. His right hand was decorated with black markings and a small black band was wrapped around his left. Connor had no idea who this man was, but he continued to ask for his help.

"I'd to love to help, Connor. But I can't. Believe me, I would have loved to. But the truth is, I've moved on beyond the point where I can help. In my current state, all I can do is observe from the darkness." The stranger faded into the shadows and Connor was alone.

He had somehow made it to the village. Corpses of both natives and settlers were strewn across the rotting husks of longhouses and lodges. He was too late, Connor realized. He had failed to protect his people once again. He let himself rest against the pillar of the mansion's remains. He though he heard footsteps. Connor recognized the tall and well-built man approaching him. A warrior that could nurse him back to fighting shape. Together, they could avenge the fall of their village.

"Kaneh'to:kon, help me. I was too late to stop the raiders, but with you at my side we can hu-"

"You betrayed the safety of our people for your precious colonists. Charles Lee gave me the power to save them all and you destroyed it. This is for the tribe, traitor."

Kaneh'to:kon raised his hunting knife and plunged it into Connor's heart.

**My apologies for a somewhat filler chapter this early on.**


	4. Everything in its Right Place

**Chapter 4 – Everything in its Right Place**

Connor awoke in his own bed. The room was dimly lit by four candles. Frederique snuggled next to him, awake as well. "Enfin, you return. Are you feeling alright, Connor?"

"What happened?" Connor could remember his son telling him that he had discovered a Templar plan to attack the Homestead. Connor could still see the vivid imagery that had plagued him while he lay unconscious. He had to prepare if the Templars really planned to enact their vengeance all these years later.

"Connor, you collapsed in the room where you store all those étrange inventions. Matthew carried you back to your room, and called in the doctor. Fortunately, Docteur White said that your collapse was caused by nothing too severe. You'd be fine after a good night's rest, so he sai- Connor, where are you going?" Connor stumbled from the bed, his head felt slightly dizzy. But it was clearing quickly.

"Where did my son go after Dr. White arrived?" Connor asked his wife.

"He said he wouldn't depart with his company until the next morning. I saw him explaining your state to Charlotte just before the docteur arrived. He might still be somewhere in the mansion." With that, Frederique watched Connor race out of their room. She considered calling for him to return and heed the doctor's advice, but Conner could be so stubborn at times. She could tell that this was one such time.

Connor frantically paced the halls of the Davenport Mansion looking for Matthew. The rooms of the mansion were pitch black, illuminated only by Connor's candle. "Must be somewhere on ground level, then."

Connor's haste slowed as he descended the flight of stairs. _No point in hurrying only to fall and snap your neck. Not a fitting end in the slightest…." _To Connor's dismay, the guest room was empty. There had been no sign that Matthew had been sleeping in the bed, as the sheets were still perfectly spread on the mattress. _Looks like your boy lied about staying until morning. He's taken all his Assassins with him, leaving you to defend the Homestead by yourself. _Connor thought to himself. Then he saw a dim glow coming from part of the house. Curious, Connor headed towards the radiance.

His eyes grew when he saw the candelabra pulled down and the hidden door on the wall retracted. There was no longer a need for his own candle, as someone had illuminated the interior of the basement. Connor heard a noise go "thunk" like something made of metal embedding itself in wood. He crept down the staircase, and he heard a child's laughter. Charlotte.

She was holding the end of a rope dart. The tip was lodged in one of the pegs that held outfits he had worn during his days as an Assassin. The rope dart protruded from the clothes had worn in prison. Matthew looked slightly amused by her reaction to the rope dart, and he had taken a sword from the armory. "Would you like to learn how to use this, next?"

"Perhaps she can some other time." Connor interrupted the two. Matthew seemed shocked that Connor was awake but his daughter was simply pleased to see him. She dropped the rope dart and run to hug her father. Connor longingly held her in his embrace, knowing that Templars could be marching to destroy the land she slept on. "You can join us if you want, Matthew."

"Papa, big brother told that you used to be the greatest fighter in all thirteen colonies. He said you could beat fifty men all by yourself. Big brother said you could teach me how to fight just like that. Please, papa?" She looked up at Connor, her eyes big and eager.

Connor smiled. "Maybe when you're older, Charlotte. With all luck, you'll be in better control of your impulses. You get into enough scuffles with the woodworker's boy alone every week. If I taught you everything I knew now, we'd have every other child in this town lining up at Dr. White's to mend their broken bones. Aren't you meant to be in bed at this hour, anyhow?"

Charlotte eagerly told her father. "Big brother was taking me to my room, but I told him I thought there was a secret room right here. And I was right! There are all sorts of amazing things in the back, Papa. Big brother let me use one of the metal ropes hanging on the racks. And I found these funny objects that go on your arms." Charlotte showed Connor two brown bracers, which he instantly recognized as his hidden blades. Connor took one of the blades from Charlotte, and placed it on his wrist. It had been a long time since he last used the knife, but perhaps if he just took the moment to concentrate and remember…

With a nostalgic sound, the blade slid from the bracer. It pivoted into his palm, and Connor gripped the hidden knife like it was yesterday. It was yesterday…

Charlotte clapped as he demonstrated the use of the blade. She was wowed, and Connor knew that eventually her natural inquisitiveness would require that he tell her everything. About her grandfather. About what he did during the Revolution. Everything from the past he had left behind.

"There's plenty more down here to show you, each with a story behind it. But not enough to condense into a single night, I'm afraid. Why don't you head back to your room? I left a candle at the top." Charlotte, although an adventurous child, obeyed her father. She gave her good nights to her father and brother then scampered up the stairs.

"Matthew…" Connor began.

"I didn't tell her about the Assassins, if that's what you're asking." Matthew told him as he walked to the peg and pulled out the rope dart. He tossed aside and faced his father.

"No, I meant to ask as to how you discovered the basement. Aside from me, only one other person knew about the basement. He was my teacher, and he died long ago. I haven't told anyone else about the candelabra, not even my wife."

"It wasn't me. It was your daughter. I was guiding her to the room your wife told me was hers, where she started to pipe out. She claimed that she could make the world go dark by herself and that special things would glow white. She said that I myself was glowing blue. I was skeptical, but she kept insisting that I investigate the candelabra. When I pulled it, I was stunned. How could she have known about something as hidden as this? I tried to do what she described, but to little avail."

"I know what you're talking about. It's a special gift that both those Assassin and Templar have possessed. These include legends such as Altair Ibn-La'Ahad and Ezio Auditore. It appears to run in our bloodline, Matthew. My grandfather, Edward Kenway possessed it. As did my own father Haytham and me as well. I don't know why you don't enjoy this talent, but it comes as modest shock Charlotte can pull off this special vision."

"Appropriate. She gets the father in her life and the extraordinary talents while I don't. She'll make a fine Assassin, if you have the will to bring her into the Order. She gets into fights, you say?"

"She's adventurous and independent, Matthew. I discourage it, but she has resorted to settling disputes with the boys in town with her fists often. But I will not tell her of the Order, not yet. There's no reason a child at her age should crush their innocence with the enormity of what we Assassins must sacrifice. I learned that the hardest way. She must learn at the age when she's old enough to know and understand what the Order requires."

Matthew started to head up the staircase as Connor finished his sentenced. He called out to his son.

"Matthew, wait. Are you truly leaving tomorrow?"

"Father, the war does not solely encompass the Davenport Homestead. It rages across all corners of this continent, and the Brotherhood has pledged to soil the intentions of the Templars wherever they are present whether it be the States or Canada. I was planning to leave for the Deep South tomorrow. Our brothers and sisters there are struggling as the southern guild has been tossed into chaos. Their Mentor, Aveline de Grandpre, was viciously murdered by a Templar agent called the Coyote Man. I plan to help stabilize and rebuild, as well as fortify against a possible Templar attack on New Orleans. Even if it means that I may have to collaborate with Andrew Jackson…"

"Aveline is dead?"

"You knew her? She went down with honor, even as it became apparent the odds were against her. She was traveling with a group of Assassins back to New Orleans, but they were attacked. The agent named Coyote Man led the ambush, you see. They slaughtered most of the Assassins with Aveline, but she fought valiantly even with her age with the Templars to ensure that the survivors could escape. Eventually, it was just her and the Coyote Man. He had no weapons but even Aveline's skill could not match his efficiency and ruthlessness. She died by his bare hands."

"How do you know all this?" Connor was sure he had asked this before, but he felt that there was much Matthew had not told him.

"They burned Washington, you know. We arrived far too late to save the city from the flames, but we were able to capture a few looting redcoat Templars. We got much information from these men after we left them alone with Joe for a few minutes. Let him dispose of them, as well."

"Joe?" Connor interrupted unintentionally.

"One of the Assassins accompanying me. The one playing with his deer jerky, but that's not really important. I don't believe that Joe is his real name, either. But none of that matters. The most vital reports we got from the Templars was news of Aveline's death, plans to march on Baltimore, plans involving New Orleans and the Spanish-held Florida territory, and lastly, the initiation of Charles Lee's post-death protocols."

Matthew continued with his recollection.

"Now father, you're the only one we've haven't planned for yet. As you know, I'm heading to the south to help steady the Guild there. Another group of Assassins was dispatched to Baltimore, but they were captured by the British. Non-Templar, thankfully, so they're being held instead of executed. Two of us, John Stuart Skinner and Francis Scott Key, volunteered to head to Baltimore to try and negotiate their release. But you, that's the problem. I worry for you, father. You were an Assassin gutsy enough to slay a Templar in the midst of a heated battlefield in the past, but I worry what has happened to your talent given your period of retirement. I feel as if I must change my intentions and hang about a bit longer."

"I thought you resented me, Matthew. Why do you wish to stay and defend?" Connor commented to the son.

"I have my resentments, father, and they have resolved hardly. But you still were my father, even if you abandoned me and Dobby. I still remember the stories you told me, about your days in the Assassins, even if you didn't explicitly reveal them as such. I remember the joyous days when we were a family, in spite of their briefness, with fondness. I don't love you, Connor, but I care for you and my extended family. It would be splendid to feel as I did once more." Connor knew that Matthew had formed a sort of connection to his half-sister, but how deep did it go? He would be a good teacher, if Connor fell…

"I still feel as if you have hidden information from me." Connor told his son as they to the armory.

"On our way here, we were ambushed by a Templar trap. They were amateurs, and we dispatched them easily. A lucky blow by a panicking Templar damaged my hidden blade, but aside from that we came through unscathed. But they told me something that chilled my blood."

"Do disclose, Matthew."

"The dying Templar, with his final breaths, told me that you had been assigned as the Coyote Man's next target. He had been sent to the property in advance to await the division of Templar-led redcoats. The Coyote Man may even be here now, lurking somewhere in the forest!"

"Coyote Man…" Connor muttered while thinking to the farmer's report of a decapitated cow. "You say he's killed Aveline and now he's after me."

Matthew nodded to his father. Connor noticed that there was genuine concern in his eyes. "You fear him, Matthew?"

"His reputation… He's like you, father. A half-breed child, but inducted into the Templar Order instead of the Assassins. He's hunted down many other Assassins in addition to Aveline throughout the entire coastline, and I fear that he will be too much for you. All of us, even."

"We shall see." Conner said to his son, clearly and determinedly. He decided to change the subject. "You claim to have lost your blade?"

Matthew nodded again. "Wait here." Connor turned right and headed towards a blank wall. Once paintings of his targets had stood in this space, but now there was nothing but scribbles of writing now. On a table adjacent to the wall lay several mementos of his adventures. Connor's eyes dropped on a hidden blade. It had been damaged when Connor dueled his own father at Fort George, but in the years following the Revolution Big Dave repaired the mechanism for him as a favor. He picked up the bracer, along with an unimposing white ring covered in foreign markings.

"What is this?" Matthew asked him as Connor showed him the bracer.

"It belonged to your father. Before then, an Assassin named Miko. Your father made much use of it as a Templar, but I feel that it's time this blade returned to its proper owners." The stunned Matthew slid on his Haytham's hidden blade. Connor then handed him the ring.

"What is this piece of scrap?" Matthew asked confusedly.

"You remember the treasure hunt I told you about as a child? This was what I found at Oak Island, what all pieces of the map had been leading to."

"This was the legendary treasure of Kidd? Seems that a pirate of his pedigree would've buried something more valuable."

"Exactly what my first mate thought as well, when I emerged from the cavern with this shard. But you see…" Connor motioned while holding the shard near the sword rack. Instantly, the metallic weaponry was on the floor in a heap. He could see that Matthew was amazed by the display of the shard's power. Connor let him try out the shard, and the two shared a mutual moment of contentment as Matthew scattered the pistol rack.

"You can use it to deflect the bullets that will undoubtedly be fired at you when the Templars attack. Take this blade as well; it was the other half of Kidd's treasure that he hid at Cerros." Connor bent over and picked up the sawtoothed-blade. He handed it to his son, who hesitantly accepted it and the shard.

"Thank you, father. I will ensure that they do not harm your family or the residents of the Homestead." With that, Matthew embarked to the stairs.

Connor lingered longer. He sat cross-legged facing the wall of outfits. The robes with the eagle-shaped hood stared back at him. Was this finally the moment? There had been many questions unanswered in Connor's life, but he had never been as uncertain as he was at this very time.

_The time has come, Connor. You know it to be the truth, even without searching within yourself for answers. But have you prepared, Connor? Are you ready to return to a world that you left behind? You can't stop it or compromise now, Connor. Another war has come to us, in spite of your reluctance to fight it. I'll always be ready to assume your role. Better than you ever could._

_I failed him as a father, but Matthew still stayed to fight with me in spite of my mistakes with him. My daughter Charlotte sleeps unaware of the threat that has come, she knows near nothing of my past. And the residents, they are even more so oblivious to the ancient war I once fought in. Now, they will all be punished if I don't act. It was foolish to think that simply retiring would allow me to escape my past. To think that disabling their organization would cause the Templars to ignore me. I failed to protect my village and people once, but I WILL NEVER let it happen again. This is the time. The end of the road shrouded in mystery that I have traveled on for so long. _

_I will not let innocents perish by their hands._

_I will protect the Brotherhood from their harassment._

_I will meet them in battle, and they will fall by my unseen hand._

_I am Connor Kenway, and I fight for the Assassins._

Connor felt himself slowly undressing. He accidentally tore his top in its removal but he didn't mind. Connor felt as if he wouldn't need it soon. He slipped from his pants and boots, tossing them aside. He walked to the set of robes on the furthermost left side of the rack. Connor removed them, and he could feel their allure within his palms.

Connor slid his arms through the sleeves. Even as an older man, they fit him perfectly. He was fifteen again, on the day Achilles handed him a box that had everything he needed. He didn't know it that in spite of his rebellious attitude he had brought the old man hope for the future. He hadn't realized until the old man passed away, but Connor swore upon his grave to make Achilles proud. He would not let the Templars reduce Achilles' dream to specks of dust.

Connor curls up his sleeves, and fits his wrists into the bracers. They fit like a key in a lock. Uncurling the sleeves, the bracers are hidden from sight. With his gloved hands, he lifts something heavy over his head. It casts a shadow over Connor's face, and a fire that was extinguished over a decade ago sparks brightly with fuel again. Connor heads back to the armory and grabs from another rack a stone tomahawk.

He climbs out of the basement.

The Assassin pushes open the doors of the mansion. A dawn is starting to break, glorious streaks of red scaring off the darkness. The Assassin heads towards one of the white columns, where long ago Achilles had berated him for demonstrating the war preparation customs of his people.

With a swing, he embeds the tomahawk into the column.


	5. The Battle of Davenport

**Chapter 5 – The Battle of Davenport**

"How many of your Assassins are left, Matthew?" Connor asked his son as they conferred on a cliff overlooking the entirety of the Homestead.

"I kept around five apprentices. The rest I dispatched to the southern states in my absence. Then there's me and the two Assassins accompanying me. That leaves you with eight total Assassins. What of your Homesteaders, father?"

Connor thought for the moment. "Many of them are willing to fight to defend our land. The hunters and lumberjacks have already volunteered. But those who cannot we must evacuate. The surrounding forest, the Aquila, any place that the Templars wouldn't immediately seek out."

Matthew nodded. "I have my apprentices accounting for that right now."

"One last thing, Matthew…" Connor chimed up as his son started to embark down the path back to the mansion.

Matthew turned and waited his father's word. "I know that I have made my mistakes with you and your mother, that I may never truly earn your forgiveness but let me give you a final request as your parent. If I am not to make it through the coming skirmish…"

"What would you have me do, father?"

"Tell her, my daughter. About our Order, their Order, my past, and give her the choice. I want you to train her if she accepts. I have seen the loyalty and bonds that your apprentices have to you. You would make a fine teacher, Matthew."

Matthew had gone off. Connor hadn't been able to discern in his expression whether he would accept his father's request of training Charlotte. His son had simply stated that he would decide when the time was right. Connor climbed the tip of the hanging branch. It was sturdy, and could hold his weight easily. The black crows on the edge fluttered off as he approached. He balanced on the tip, and without looking down, he leapt from the branch.

_I'm falling._

_I can hear the sound of the air as it goes through my ears._

_It's been a long time, but I know that it must be done._

A large pile of leaves at the bottom of the cliff cushioned Connor's fall. He scrambled out. Aside from a slightly aching back, he performed the leap without injury. He smiled. It was as his dormant skills were all coming back to him.

He ran to the harbor, where several residents of the Homestead were boarding the Aquila. He caught sight of Frederique and Charlotte. Connor sped to his wife and child. He kissed his wife while the two readily embraced him.

"Papa, why are we going on the big ship? What are those weird clothes you are wearing?"

"Some people are coming to the Homestead. They may not be the friendliest of sorts, so we're taking you somewhere safer. Don't worry Charlotte, your father will come back for you as soon as everything's safe. And these are my old clothes. Thought to wear them for the occasion." He kissed his daughter on the cheek, perhaps for the final time.

"I must speak to you in private, Frederique." He led his wife aside, hopefully where they were out of Charlotte's hearing range. "Templar-led redcoats are coming to attack the Homestead, they may be here by sunset."

"Then let me fight alongside you, Connor, like we did at the March on Versailles!" Connor almost smiled at the memory, but he instead cringed at the years of horror that had followed that day. How powerless he felt to stop the madness of the Legislative Assembly. He wondered if it was his own failure to prevent the corruption of another world's revolution that inspired his initial willingness to leave the Order.

"No, you have to stay with Charlotte. She loves us both, there is no point in risking the chance and making her an orphan today." Frederique was disappointed by this, but she finally nodded her head to Connor.

"As you wish, Connor. Just give me something, just in case." Connor reluctantly handed his wife a flintlock pistol and iron dagger. As he walked away from the pier, he pulled the hood over his head again. Charlotte saw Connor as he did it, and thought her father to look extremely grand in those odd clothes.

Connor sat on the steps of the mansion's entrance. He glanced up at the tomahawk in the column, and he looked down again. He was contemplating everything, from his past to the future. He thought of Charlotte. What would become of her, if he died? He had instructed his son to train her as an Assassin if she wished, but what if something corrupted the process? He thought about Haytham and his father's internal conflicts, and worried. He hadn't noticed the other Assassin sitting next to him.

"Hello." The man in the shawl and white hood told him. Connor recognized him as the native man who had been with Matthew on the first day. At a closer distance, Connor could discern that they were closer in age that he had previously thought. The man's face had been streaked in white face paint.

"How did you get close without me noticing?"

"The Templars didn't name me the Silent Shadow solely for aesthetic purposes. But my true name is Atasa:ta." The man told him.

"Are you of the Kaniehkehaka?" Connor asked. The man nodded.

"Strange. We are of the same age and yet I cannot recall ever seeing a child by your name in the village." Connor told the Silent Shadow.

"My father raised me away from the village, in isolation. He had managed to survive the initial purge by Kenway's Templars and he feared what would happen to the village if they found out that he lived there. He taught me in the ways of the Assassins by himself, and it was a good enough life. Then the Templars finally caught up with him, and I was by myself. I chose to hunt down any Templars I could find in the cities out of vengeance, and the Brotherhood eventually found me." Atasa:ta explained to Connor.

The man rose to his feet and noticed the tomahawk in the column. In native tongue, he complimented Connor. "I see that you have not forgotten the ways of our people, Ratonhnhake:ton."

A small band of redcoats marched through the woods. Among them was a young infantryman named Jonathan Hastings. This was to be his first day of conflict, but his officer had assured him that this town they were heading to, called Davenport, lacked a strong American military presence. Their burning would be short and easy, and if he performed well, he might be inducted into the Order soon.

Jonathan had no idea what this Order was, but he had seen many of his fellow soldiers discussing it with his commanding officer often. He had wondered what it was and was truly intrigued, but all had refused to answer him when he had asked. "Beautiful sunset, isn't it boys?" The officer barked in between his orders. "A regret that this town soon won't feel the sa-"

He was cut off as one of the infantrymen stepped on a small stud-like bump in the road. Jonathan heard an explosion, and was blasted from the spot with an impact. He looked up, and he saw a shadowy figure in the branches with something long in his arms. The figure threw the object and wrapped it around his commanding officer's neck. The figure leapt down from the branches bringing the officer up with him. The officer struggled and was flailing wildly but Jonathan saw that the figure had somehow hung him.

The surviving Redcoats shouted frantically and turned weapons to face the mysterious attacker but he dropped something from his hands. A blinding white smoke stung Jonathan's eyes before he could properly point his musket. He thought he heard a shrill whistle, like the cry of an eagle.

More attackers were on the Redcoats, and Jonathan could hear sounds of blind fighting. Men were screaming, cursing. Wildly fired gunshots. As the smoke cleared, Jonathan saw that his fellow soldiers had been killed. He tried to aim his pistol at the lead attacker, but the man swung something and knocked it from his hand. His hand was cut in the process. Without warning, someone with a blade protruding from their arm held it against his neck.

Jonathan found himself begging the man in front of him for mercy, that he was only seventeen and just following orders. The tipped-hood of the man obscured his face, but Jonathan saw that he had the features of the continent's natives. The hooded man bent down, and ripped a cross from a grenadier's corpse. "Do you know what this means?" The man asked as he showed Jonathan.

Jonathan found himself stammering his denial over and over, as the man looked long and hard at him. Finally, the man motioned and the tip of the blade was removed from his neck. He was shoved with immense strength to the ground and he scrambled to his feet. "Run. But if you dare come back to this homestead, we will kill you without hesitation." Jonathan fled through the woods. He would be disciplined gravely if they found out, but he didn't care. He never returned to the battlefield, even when he heard the cannons fire and his fellows charge.

Connor heard the cannons fire and he saw the church tower crumbling. Father Timothy definitely would not be pleased by this. Fresh batches of British troopers were pouring in. He narrowly avoided another cannon blast in his vicinity. He shouted over the chaos.

"Somebody neutralize those cannons!" Without replying, the Silent Shadow was off.

He streaked across town, as the Assassins and Homesteaders battled with the British troops. The British regulars outnumbered them by far, but they lacked the training of the Assassins and were unprepared for the guerilla tactics that the Homesteaders chose to employ. He dodged more cannon fire and saw a group of redcoats take aim. At the same moment, a redcoat charged at him. Connor dodged the man's stab, and hooked his arm around the man. The redcoats fired but Connor swung his captive in front, taking all the bullets. Tossing the redcoat to the side, Connor ran towards his comrades. "He's just an old fart, we can take 'em!" He heard one of them yell.

Well, they would have the pleasure of discovering just what this old fart was capable of. Connor was surprised at just how natural his combat seemed to be. How none of his prowess seemed to have been lost. He was clumsier than he used to be, but it was almost as nothing had changed from the last time he had used his blades in battle. _Of course, Connor. _A voice came on inside his head. _You think that your native side would just let you forget everything you've learned, to grow pathetic and ineffective? But if you would just let me take over for a bit, who knows what you could to do to these training dummies… _

One of the Regulars went for Connor with his musket's tip. Connor blocked the weapon with his tomahawk and flipped the regular to the ground. Grabbing the musket, he slammed the weapon into the head of another regular. The confused regular accidentally jabbed his weapon into the ground, giving Connor the opportunity to hop on the man's musket and slash his throat with his tomahawk. Landing, he stabbed the first redcoat with his hidden blade as he writhed on the ground. An overconfident grenadier swung his large axe at Connor only for the Assassin to roll out of its arc. Surprised, the grenadier could do nothing as Connor kicked out and swept him off his feet. As soon as the grenadier was on the ground, Connor brought the tomahawk down hard on the soldier's head, coating his tomahawk with dark crimson blood. A redcoat with a blade tried to slash at Connor. Blocking the weapon with his tomahawk, Connor stabbed the redcoat with his hidden blade in the artery. He drove the blade up as blood spurted from the wound. Seeing his men fall, the officer with the Templar cross around his neck turned to run. Connor shook his head, and drew out his bow. Pulling far on the string, he let an arrow fly.

The Templar thought he had escaped the Assassin when he noticed something sharp and fast slide into his neck. The Templar collapsed.

Atasa:ta wiped the blood from his tomahawk and retracted his hidden blade. He had moved swiftly through the trees and had easily located the spot where the Templars had set up their three cannons. Four men manned each cannon, and he had easily taken out every man with his hidden blade except for one officer oblivious to his presence. When the officer, confused to as why the cannons had stopped firing, turned around to see Atasa:ta. Before he could scream, the Silent Shadow butted the head of his tomahawk into his stomach. As the officer bent over from the pain, he swung his tomahawk directly into the officer's spine.

He realized he was not alone.

He heard a pistol cock. On impulse, he hopped to the right as a shot rang out. Someone cursed under their breath and he heard running footsteps. From the woods burst a man dressed in animal bones and traditional native dress. A cow's skull covered his face, decorated in black and red facepaint. He beckoned to the Silent Shadow. In a barmy voice, he called out to the Silent Shadow:

"I am the Coyote Man. I want to taste your blood, assassin!"

Atasa:ta fled to the town, knowing that he stood a better chance against the Templar in an ambush. He had made it to the outskirts of the buildings when he felt the wind rush and a throwing knife imbed itself in his leg. He hastily pulled it out and limped behind the corner of the nearest hut. "Damnit…" He was wounded, but he perhaps he could still get the drop on the Coyote Man…

He heard the rushing footsteps. Feeling tense, he finally rushed at the Coyote Man as he exposed himself from the corner. "I will send you back to the Great Spirit!" The Silent Shadow yelled as he tried to uppercut the Coyote Man in a stunning move. To his horror, the templar agent quickly recovered from the shock of the ambush. The Coyote Man redirected his stun, and knocked him down on the ground. The Silent Shadow felt the man getting on top of him, plunging his two shanks into his back repeatedly…

"Old fool! You think that I have been in the business for such a short time that I cannot tell when someone plans to stun me from a corner!" The Coyote Man mocked Atasa:ta, who was panting dying breaths rapidly.

"Still alive? Don't worry. I shall see you in the darkness soon enough!" Atasa:ta saw the Coyote Man lift his boot up high, and the last thing he saw was it being brought down upon his head.

Connor had caught up with Matthew. Their outfits had been stained with the blood of belligerents that they had come across during the battle. They were joined by the assassin apprentices, Matthew's fellow assassin Joe, and some of the Homesteaders. They had pushed back most of the redcoats, but there remained a large group approaching the mansion. Connor nodded to Matthew. "Once we take care of this remnant group, this battle may finally be won."

"Where is the Shadow?" Joe asked.

"Sounds like he succeeded in taking care of those cannons, so I expect he'll be coming along shortly." Matthew replied.

"Is that him?" A nervous female apprentice suddenly asked. She was carrying a telescope. Connor peered through it, and gave it to Matthew.

"I presume your friend here has spotted this Coyote Man?" Connor asked. By the grave expression on his son's face, he knew it to be the truth.

Two Redcoats strayed from the main group near the mansion.

"Once we get the charges set, Mr. Dee, we'll send that mansion over there up into a splendid show of flames."

"Such a shame, honestly. We could've made good use of whatever's in there. Must be several riches, Mr. Brock."

"Don't be so pessimistic, Mr. Dee. I'm sure that we shall find several things left over with value that were left unscathed by flames."

"You reassure me quite well, Mr. Brock. What was the reason that we are burning this town in the first place?"

"Officially, our reason is to punish this town for contributing the American's war effort economically. In truth, it's a bit more personal regarding the higher ups. To punish a Revolutionary war veteran, so I'm told."

"Sounds like a good reason, Mr. Dee. Mr. Dee?" Mr. Brock turned around and saw a deranged man in a large hat, face obscured by a scarf, with a hook stabbed into Mr. Dee's neck.

"Ssssssssliiiiiiiiiiiiiit…" The man mimed the sound of the hook as he sharply wrenched his weapon across Dee's throat spraying blood in Brock's face. Brock tried to scream but the man shoved Dee's corpse at him.

Brock turned to run, to warn his fellow regulars, but something jagged pierced his mouth. "I am death." The man told him as he swung Brock onto the ground, tearing the hook out.

Upon completing his two kills, Joe brought the whistle to his mouth and blew. Upon hearing this sound, the Homestead residents aimed their muskets and fired at the redcoats. Upon the first volley making contact, the Assassins patrolling the rooftop leapt into the shocked redcoats with hidden blades held out high.

In the midst of the frenzied melee between his comrades and the redcoats, Connor and the Coyote Man caught sight of each other. They started to head towards each other. _One last Templar to kill, one final duel… _Connor thought to himself.

Two adolescent-looking redcoats charged Connor, but he simply pushed them aside. "Run home to your parents, boys." _No more redcoats. Just one more life to take tonight and I'll be finished._

"Ah, the legendary Connor Kenway! A disappointment you fail to match my impressions. You're nothing but an old native man in white robes. Isn't it time for you drop dead of heart failure, now, Connor?" The Coyote Man barked at him.

"But still, you are exactly what I want. With you out of the way, our vengeance against you meddling Assassins of the Revolution will finally be completed! I challenge you, Connor!" The Coyote Man howled in a guttural tone, and charged Connor with his two shanks raised.

Connor thinks that he's winning, but it's hard to tell in the heat of a battle. He knocks the Coyote Man to the side, and delivers punished blows to his chest. Connor easily counters his shanks and cuts his adversary multiple times with hidden knife. He throws the Coyote Man over a fence and leaps at his opponent. They clash weapons, and Connor uses his lifelong experience to easily knock the two shanks from the Coyote Man's grasp. He sees the fear in his opponent's eyes, but then he feels something prickly enter and leave his side. Connor's head goes light. The world seems to be spinning.

The Coyote Man is on him again, with brutal blows. Blood flies from Connor's mouth and his nose pops as the boot connects with his head. His head pounds and the world refuses to make sense. He can't be sure if he's on solid foundation. Why is the world spinning? Poisoned, of course. He realizes as he sees the darts on the Coyote Man's belts. The cheating bastard. But of course you can't expect to see someone whose only goal is to kill you to play cleanly when he's about to lose.

Connor collapses to the ground. The Coyote Man is on top, with a pistol pointed at his head. "I could pull the trigger now, assassin. Finish you now. But I have specific orders to make you suffer. The poison's slow moving, relatively painless, but still lethal. But we will make you suffer, as the poison will let you live long enough to see everything on your plot of land burn and all your friends die." The Coyote Man laughed and instead uses the pistol to shoot down one of the assassin apprentices.

Matthew hears the gunshot and one of his friends scream. He whips his head around while driving the blade Connor gave him into a redcoat's throat, and sees his apprentice Jonas crumple. Then he sees his father on the ground, bloodied and bruised. He sees the Coyote Man, standing triumphant. His heart sinks. He rushes at the Coyote Man.

"More Assassins to gut? The pleasure is all mine!" The mad Templar readies his shanks and blocks Matthew's first strike. Using the butts of his blades, he rams them against Matthew's chest. Matthew fights back determinedly, but the Templar agent proves to be too much eventually.

"Is this your boy, Connor? I see the very worried way that you look at me and him!" The Coyote Man howled with joy again. "Then let me carve him up like a little feeshie!"

Connor sees two redcoats restraining Matthew while the Coyote Man prances about and spits on his son. He takes the shank and uses it to cut a deep line against Matthew's left cheek. Matthew's expression pains, but he does not scream out. Connor looks in his son's eyes and he sees his child silently begging him to get up, to stop these men. "Ooh, does that sting?" The Coyote Man asks, and he rubs his thumb against the cut.

Connor closes his eyes in this moment of despair.

He hears that voice from inside calling again.

_You cannot escape me, Connor. You have tried for so long to repress your bloodlust, your need to punish those you deem responsible for your misery. You hate this part of yourself, but you cannot abandon me. For am I who you were, before the Assassins let you channel your rage and depression for the benefit of a free man. Now, you can't stop the Coyote Man from killing Matthew. But I can. You're puny, small, nothing but a rusty shell barely capable of fighting back in your current state. Don't try to drown out my voice anymore, Connor. Don't bother running anymore. What other options do you have left, Connor? The Assassin can't save Matthew, but the native within can…_

His eyes snapped open.

Ratonhnhake:ton saw the man about to carve another cut on Matthew's other cheek. '

He had the strength of the bear. The speed of the eagle. The cunning of the wolf. It would be his pleasure, to see the Coyote Man beg for his life as he crushed his head with his bare hands.

**This is it. I'm not too entirely satisfied with how the action and Ratonhnhake:ton implementation turned out, but overall I've had a great time writing this as my first published fanfic. The next installment will conclude the story, and I may add an additional installment as an afterwards catching up with my original characters years later.**


	6. Where the Wind Wind Blows

**Chapter 6 – Where the Wild Wind Blows**

Ratonhnhake:ton rose to his feet. The effects of the Coyote Man's poison were still there, but he fought his way through the spinning numbness. The fool Connor had been weak, willing to give in. But he would offer no compromise, no mercy. With a pop, two knives pivoted from their bracers into his hands. He staggered to the Coyote Man and his two redcoat companions. They didn't notice him. Of course they didn't. He was invisible to their presence until it would be too late. He was the wolf hunting the elk waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The Coyote Man was talking to the captive boy. Matthew was his name. Connor had sired him, but Ratonhnhake:ton knew that only he was qualified to rescue the boy.

"Just let me give you one more pretty little scratch, all the painted whores in town will go crazy over this rugged appearance. You'll have so many petite virgin cuntholes to pop open that you'll never forget tomorrow night. Provided that those painted whores are into corpses!" The Coyote Man laughed and moved his knife to Matthew's right cheek. A small droplet of blood slit from the puncture he began to make. Then the Coyote Man heard something that mortified his bones.

The laughter of a sadistic madman as the Assassin that the Coyote Man thought he had paralyzed snuck up behind the two redcoats restraining the boy. The two men suspected, but they heard the man too late. Two knifes lodged themselves deep in their throats, fountains of blood seeping from their wounds. They manage to let out shrill, feminine screams and the man shook his head in disapproval. With a laugh, he slammed their heads together. There was a sickening sound like a fruit being crushed and bones cracking while he did this. "I have come to… deliver…. justice… and you're next…"

Ratonhnhake:ton pushed Matthew to the side. It was Connor speaking, he ordered the son to run. He did not want him around, to see what he would do the Coyote Man. Then Ratonhnhake:ton took over again while Matthew fled from the visible distance. "What… no… I poisoned you, how can you be fighting back?"

"You dared to harm my family. You dared to threaten the safety of my village and people. I will take much pleasure in cleansing your filth from this world." The Assassin advanced on him, leaving his blades stuck in the dead redcoats, and the Coyote Man heard a tone of malice that had existed not when he was fighting him earlier.

"No... No…, get back you fucking monster!" The Coyote Man frantically waved his shank at the Assassin. "You have no weapons, its suicide! I will kill you, assassin! Stop coming at me!" The Coyote Man stabbed the Assassin in the side with his knife. He drew it out with blood, but the Assassin didn't stop.

Ratohnhake:ton grabbed hold of the worm. The worm was squirming, trying to escape frantically beating upon him. He begged for Ratonhnhake:ton to show him some mercy, wasn't that what Connor Kenway was known for? "You make a grave mistake. I am not Connor Kenway, and I certainly am no assassin. I am Ratonhnhake:ton of the Kanienkehaka people, and I shall make sure that in your death my people can live safely." He delivered a mighty jab to the Coyote Man's face. The cow skull he work as a mask shattered. Fragments embedded themselves in the Coyote Man's face. His victim screamed.

Ratonhnhake:ton was holding the man's arm now. All he needed to do was apply a little bit of pressure in this direction. With a snapping sound, the Coyote Man howled in inhuman tones while the Native dislocated his arm. Ratonhnhake:ton raised his right foot and sharply lashed his foot to the Coyote Man's knee. His victim screamed again and again. How was it that Connor had trouble fighting this pathetic wretch of a fighter?

The Coyote Man was writhing on ground, his limbs contorted into cruel mockeries. He couldn't move, not even to roll to the side. Ratonhnhake:ton stomped on the man's groin, and relished the sound of his torment. The Coyote Man was muttering his own native tongue now, but Ratonhnhake:ton didn't bother listening to what the man was saying. No one listened to what the insignificant insect said before the boot crushed it unaware.

He can hear Connor's voice frantically begging him to relent, and end the torture. Ratonhnhake:ton refused to listen. Connor had been a comprising fool, weak and unable to do what had been done. Like the case with Washington. The commander had killed his mother and burned his village. He had deserved to die. But Connor never acted. He simply threatened Washington and continued to dispense his dirty deeds at Monmouth and West Point. Thanks to Connor's weakness, the father he never had was dead at Connor's hands and Washington the monster lived. A life he could've had was gone thanks to Connor. The vengeance he could've had for a destroyed childhood was gone thanks to Connor. Connor the Assassin would no longer have any say in what he did. He would punish them all in the ways that Connor wouldn't.

He was pounding his fists into the Coyote Man's face. The man had stopped screaming. It would be a disservice to call the pulpy, gory mess that Ratonhnhake:ton was beating a man in its current state. The man must be long dead, but Ratonhnake:ton continues to beat on it. He feels his hand break as he pounds the blood-spattered ground too hard. He won't relent. Then he hears a woman's voice in the corner of his mind call to him in disgust. In a native tongue. "Ratonhnhake:ton, what have you done?"

Ratonhnhake:ton rises to his feet, above the corpse that was the Coyote Man. Whenever Connor killed one of his targets in the past, time seemed to slow as they gasped their final words to Connor. But there were no words here, just a mutilated corpse. Ratonhnhake:ton was alone. More alone that he had ever felt.

"I did what was right. For you. For our people! I punished him for you!" He shouted to the deserted area, his roar echoing across the rooftops. Surviving Assassin apprentices and Homesteaders observed him from the distance, their expressions worried. Their captive redcoats were mortified as they looked at the dead body of the Coyote Man. Matthew was shocked. He never knew that his father had been capable of such brutality and sadism…

He heard in his head the voice again. "I won't believe you, Ratonhnhake:ton. No matter how hard you try to convince me. Even your father would've been disgusted by this showing."

"I DID IT FOR YOU!" He shouted to himself again.

"Good-bye, Ratonhnhake:ton. I said that I would never leave you, but now I regret my words."

Ratonhnhake:ton dropped to his knees in despair. He shut his eyes to prevent the tears from forming.

Connor opened his eyes.

He almost threw up when he saw what he had let himself do the Coyote Man. Not even a Templar deserved such an animal-like treatment. He tired, and he saw the blood trickling from the wound. How much had he lost? He had made a grave mistake, letting his repressed rage and emotions finally take complete control. But you had to do it, that voice was there telling him again. They would've killed your son if you hadn't.

Connor limped back to the mansion. He saw the tomahawk embedded into the column. Using the last of his strength, he grunted and pulled it out. Connor slid and sat down, his back against the column. He had been poisoned, hadn't he? He could feel it finally taking effect. The sounds around him were dulling, he couldn't feel the tomahawk he grasped in his hands. Connor felt his world growing dark and cold.

Matthew was in front of him. Anxiously shouting for him not to go. Saying that he could run and get the doctor. "I need you to stay awake, father!" Matthew begged in front of his face. Connor weakly gazed at his son, tried to smile. "I shouldn't live, Matthew… not when I let myself sink to such low-levels…" He tried to whisper to his son. Matthew was almost to the point of hysterically shaking Connor, to keep him on the same realm as he.

It felt like a weight, pointing his arm at the Coyote Man's corpse. "I… let… too… much… of him take control. All the rage. All the hatred. All the fantasies of revenge let grown unchecked for far too long. Let loose far too long. Make… sure… she never… becomes like this." He mouthed to Matthew's ear.

"Goddamn it, I won't let you die like this, father! Now when we finally have the chance and peace to reconcile!" Matthew ran off. Connor futilely knew that his son planned to fetch the Doctor, from wherever he had hidden. He knew that when his son returned, it would probably be too late. Memories flashed.

_Mother didn't often read to him from the journal, but on a rare occasion, the day that he had been born she took him by her side. She read to him the words she said were his father's. He had asked if he would ever get to meet his father. A look of uneasiness and sadness darkened his mother's face. She then simply told him that she that it was getting late. The young Ratonhnhake:ton tried to make sense of what she meant._

"_I love you." were her last words as the longhouse collapsed into flames over a year later._

_He felt alienated from everyone, even when his best friend was around. Yet, something inside him warmed as he saw the fat boy hunt his first hare._

_He was an eagle, flying through a world of dreams while the mysterious woman told him of his destiny. He awoke on the beach, with the symbol scratched into the sand. The symbol of the Assassins._

_He would never leave, he angrily shouted back the miserly colored man. The stubborn grump would eventually give in and train him, he knew it. He then retired to the stables to set up for the night._

_It was the first time that he had seen his father. He was struck by the desire to climb down from the building, push through the chaos, and just speak to him. But his father locked eyes with him. He pointed the men in red coats at him. Connor ran for his life._

_The power of being in control of this massive ship. Connor felt invincible as the Aquila cruised through the open sea._

_Marking the column with the tomahawk as he went to war. Little did he realize that this war wasn't as black and white as he thought._

_It was a feeling of victory, as Connor held the last crate of heavy tea in his hands. The crowd around him cheered, and Samuel Adams gave him words of gratitude. In the distance, he saw the three men. The man with the black hair and beard in red saw what had happened to the tea and Connor could feel his anguish. He smirked at the man. To fully commemorate what he thought was victory, he dropped final crate in the harbor. Little did he know it was just a setback…_

_Meeting George Washington for the first time. The man left his mark on the young Connor as they shook hands, and he wondered if this was the man that could protect his people._

_Charging across the battlefield, Connor had made it into the redcoat camp. He snuck through the grass and tents, hoping that he wouldn't have to take anyone's life except the man he sought. Through the trees and onto the top of the flagpole, he leapt at Pitcairn._

_The crowd booed and jeered. A woman rushed at him and delivered a sock to his jaw. Achilles was helping him off as the woman was held back. The noose was tightened, he dropped. Choking, but something cut the rope. Hickey's eyes widened and he fled to kill Washington in desperation. Connor felt someone say something to him and slip the tomahawk into his hands. He stumbled after Hickey. It wasn't until much later that he found out that it wasn't his recruits that saved him, but his own father. The enemy._

_Rushing to meet Washington, to warn him of the threat to his life. Achilles scolded him, warning him that life was not a fairy tale and that there would be no happy ending. Connor snapped back at Achilles, but he should've heed the man's warning…_

_In the cold winter at Valley Forge, Lafeyette and Connor chatted as they strolled through the camp observing the growing Patriot army. Lafeyette invited him to visit his family in France one day, to which Connor accepted._

_He awkwardly held Dobby Carter's hands in the New York pub. He hadn't allowed himself to ever get intimate with any women. He was unsure of the future of his choice of words, but he told her that he would give her the first chance._

_The brewery burns. Haytham shoves him to safety as structures collapse. Father and son scramble from the burning building._

_He and Haytham made quite the duo, he thought as they retrieved Church's stolen cargo from the island. Perhaps, he later told Achilles, this could be the start of the unification of Assassin and Templar._

_Betrayal by Washington. _

_He tried to reason with his childhood friend, but the prideful warrior wouldn't listen. Connor was pinned to his back, as the knife pressed closer to his throat. In panic, he popped the hidden blade into Kaneh'to:kon's neck._

_He eventually met with the Clan Mother much later. He tried to explain to her how his friend had died, but he couldn't bring himself to tell the whole truth._

"_Enjoy your victory. It'll be the last I deliver you." He coldly told Washington as he walked away from Monmouth._

"_How dare you call upon me after Monmouth?" Connor confronts Washington. But Washington convinces him to take one final job, to weed out the traitor at West Point. When Washington's shocked that Patriot hero Benedict Arnold has betrayed the cause, Connor satisfyingly tells him that "You reap what you sow."_

_Haytham's eyes went cold. His body fell to its side. "Good-bye, Father." was all Connor told him. Eventually he would weep for the loss of his father and what may have been._

_He was shocked as he stumbled into Achilles' study. He begged the old man in the chair to wake up. At the funeral, Connor dropped a single white feather into the casket._

_He prepared for the end of the war. With his knife, he shaved off most of hair leaving a mohawk. With his fingers, he applied the war paint to his face. It was time to kill Charles Lee._

"_Because no one else will!" He replied and shot Charles Lee._

_The two of them were wounded and bloody. Charles Lee tiredly sat the table with a bottle of ale. Connor hated the man and the man hated Connor, but Charles offered Connor the bottle as he took a seat next to Charles. Connor took the bottle from him, took a sip. The two shared a moment of mutual understanding. Lee briefly smiled and gave a thin, near inaudible laugh. Then his expression grew cloudy and his eyes looked at Connor as if to say "Now's the time. Do it." Connor took his knife and stabbed Charles Lee. He took the amulet from Lee's neck and left his body at the table._

_The village was deserted. He protested to the mysterious woman that he had failed, but she reassured him that he had made a difference. That he would do so yet again. Her words were ambiguous, yet reassuring to the Assassin as the crystal ball crumbled in his hands._

_The paintings of his father and the other men were burned. He dug up a grave to a boy named Connor Davenport. He finally understood why Achilles chose the name for him. He dropped Lee's amulet into the boy's grave. One day someone else would find it and make a difference once again…_

_Washington is telling him about bocce, how he plans to have a yard built at Mt. Vernon. Connor angrily scolds the man, that he doesn't deserve to abandon his duties of leader so soon. Washington congratulates him later for winning their game of bocce, but Connor still states that this changes nothing between them._

_Connor feels something within him bloom as he holds the baby boy in his arms for the first time. His wife looks tired but happy. "What shall we name him?" He asks her. "Matthew." was her first answer._

_Frederique is a former prostitute, but Connor finds himself slowly admiring the woman as they repeatedly stumble across each other in early days of French Revolution. Connor has no idea of the terror that will unfold following the ousting of the monarchy. She asks if he'll take her to visit America when it's all done. He says yes._

_Connor's hidden blade did not kill Maximilien Robespierre or the other members of the Legislative Assembly that he helped arrest. He decided that it was much more fitting that the own people they terrorized deliver fitting punishments. He observed from the crowd as the guillotine came down on the French man's head._

_He feels tired of his life, the assassinations and battles._

_Back in America with Frederique by his side. He briefly makes eye contact with a man as he speaks to Chapeau with his desire to retire. He doesn't recognize his son, and the young man is haunted by this fact until they meet again years later._

_War has been declared against Britain again, thanks to Templar meddling, and Connor hears that the former colonies plan to invade the British Canada to make their land part of the States once they win the war. Connor maintained neutrality, but soon enough the war would tear itself into his life._

Someone else was in front of Connor. Her skin was pale white, and she dressed entirely in black. Across her neck was a symbol. The Egyptian Ankh, Achilles had told him about it once. He didn't recognize her, but he wanted to hold her hand. Her arms with bare and sleeveless, her midriff was exposed. An unfamiliar style of dress, especially in a country with winters as harsh as this one. He wondered where this woman had come from. She didn't look like the one he had met when he used the crystal ball. Long black hair hung on her shoulders. Her voice was sweet, like honey.

"Hello, Connor. It's time to go."

Connor smiled at the woman. In the distance, he could see the faint outline of a native woman and a man in a blue tri-tip hat. He knew that there people waiting, where he was going. The world no longer felt dark and cold.

"Do you want more time, Connor?"

"No, I've had a long life. Good enough."

She took hold of Connor's hand. He felt his strength returning as he was on his feet. He let go of her hand and the two walked side by side to meet the people in the distance. He waved to them, and the man tipped his hat at Connor. He wondered if Ratonhnhake:ton would find his peace as well.

Matthew and the doctor were rushing to the manor. Matthew held a bottle but when he saw Connor, he dropped it and heard the bottle shatter. His fist clenched. He tried to hold back the tears, but he felt them slipping down his cheek regardless.

"I will teach her the ways of our Order, father. I will make you proud." With his free hand, Matthew closed Connor's eyes.

Matthew carried Connor in his arms to the pier, where the Aquila was returning. He didn't know how Frederique and Charlotte react when they saw Connor. He hoped that it would be all right.

On the horizon, an eagle screeched and took to the skies. A wolf howled.

**Although this is the end of my interpretation of Connor, an afterwards chapter catching up with my original characters will be added soon ™**


	7. Requiem

**Chapter 7 – Requiem**

_I remember that it rained on the day we buried my father. We dug him a grave next to the markers of the people who had owned the mansion before he did. It was the first time that I cried for something deserving of my tears. I spoke nothing during the wake, nothing except for "I miss you, papa." as they lowered the casket. My elder brother Matthew put his arm around my shoulder as me and mother wept._

_So many people I did not recognize showed up to attend my father's death. I didn't ask who any of them were, but Matthew told me later that they were people that had worked with my father during his lifetime. Many of them spoke about my father. _

_An old man who dressed in clothes similar to a chef's garb spoke in a French accent. He said of how Connor was many years his junior, but still was the one who had taught him everything that he knew as part of the Brotherhood. Without Connor's guidance, he couldn't have lead the northeastern branch as well as he did._

_Another elderly man who seemed to be friend with the chef spoke up. He said that he too was a student of Connor's; he introduced himself as Clipper Wilkinson. He had grown up alienated from his family and was completely divided when they sided with the Loyalists during the Revolution, but he found acceptance and a new home with Connor who had introduced him to the Brotherhood._

_At the time, I knew nothing of what my father had taught to these men._

_Some of the original Homestead residents, the aged people that I sometimes saw when I wandered through town as a little girl, spoke as well. Father Timothy told us how Connor and the residents easily accepted him, in spite of his initial British citizenship. Dr. White recalled how Connor was the one who had ended the slandering of his reputation in Boston. The elderly lady who hung at the camp of hunters claimed that Connor had found her wounded in the woods once and carried her back to the Homestead by himself before running back to the woods to punish those responsible. Various sailors commented on how skillfully he captained the ship. Everyone it seemed had a story to tell. I learned much about my father's past that day._

_At last, it was my brother's turn to speak. "Connor, my father, was not a perfect man. He made many mistakes, in both his desire to save the world and his personal life. And yet, in spite of his stumbles, he would find a way to recover. Connor dared to climb up the endless staircase and reached its top. He was the center of my world as a child, and perhaps, our reacceptance of each other all these years later that has saved me from becoming completely enwrapped in loathing. His passing leaves both the Brotherhood and world much poorer. It is a loss that will take many years to fill, but we will not give up in doing so. For Connor never gave in, and we would dishonor his legacy if we did. As Ezio Auditore would have said: requiescat in pace, Connor."_

_My brother carried a white feather in his hand. Hanging by his side was what I later learned were my father's tomahawk and hidden knives. He was joined by the old men who had been Connor's students and several others. They all carried feathers with them. They let the feathers drift down into Connor's grave and my brother deposited my father's weapons as the last feather landed. We lingered behind until the last patch of dirt had been filled in._

_Matthew had cautiously approached the two of us. He looked at my mother, and then at me. Slowly, he asked me if I wanted to learn everything about my father. My mother gasped at this. I nodded._

_For six years, they trained me. Matthew taught me many things. Climbing and running across rooftops as well as trees. Staying hidden in plain sight. How to handle a sword and gun with master precision. He also educated me on the extensive history of the Order and its enemies. I enjoyed hearing the tales written of Assassins such as Altair and John de la Tour. I learned the truth about my grandparents. I remain conflicted of what to think of my grandfather, one of them. My mother taught me what Matthew couldn't. The arts of seduction and persuasion. A schooling in different poisons. How to approach anyone and snatch their purse without them realizing. But three years ago after my discovery of the Order my mother Frederique joined father. Then, it was just me and my brother._

_I wondered often back then how long it would be before I would be fully initiated into the Order. I spent most of my time hanging around the Homestead and training. What other time I usually had Matthew sent me across the States to gain experience first hand. I passed many of my contracts easily. I wondered how long it would take back then for me to confront the Templars in combat directly. I longed back then to receive my own robes and set of blades. I wondered if I would live up to my father's legacy as an Assassin. Little did I know what an adventure I would have._

-From the memoirs of Charlotte Kenway

"Well, isn't this shaping up to be an absolutely fantastic bedtime story. I'm sure Desmond would've loved it. Maybe that was why we had problems. Maybe he was mad I never read him stories at bed like a normal parent would've. Now won't you two lovebirds get back to work?" William commented as Shaun read from Charlotte's journal to Rebecca. Ever since Desmond's death, the two of them had been cooped inside this massive Assassin library filled with the works of many significant figures in their Order's history. William had hoped that one of these items would contain the solution, to stop Juno. William himself was rushing safehouse to safehouse, discussing ways to stop both Juno and Abstergo. He had wandered into their section on a surprise visit only to discover Shaun reading to Rebecca the journal, ignoring the rest of their evaluation catalogue.

"I thought it would it be rather nice to take a break from all this lethargic skimming, eh, Will?" Shaun replied without looking back.

"In case you haven't noticed, Juno's great big plan for our world doesn't exactly consist of handing out free puppies. Who the hell knows what she's accomplished already? Shut that fucking journal and look through those other writings, now." William told Shaun sternly.

Shaun rolled his eyes and started to close the journal when Rebecca piped up. "You never know, William! There might be some mighty sweet stuff in here that Juno wouldn't want us to distinguish!"

"You win your case, for now." William said bluntly while shaking his head. "Wonder why you two don't just start kissing. At least Desmond got his damn job done…" He muttered underneath his breath as he walked away.

"Now, where were we?" Shaun asked Rebecca as he flipped through the pages.

* * *

Charlotte heard a scuffle and shouting coming from inside the inn. Curiously, she pushed open the entrance to find several men cheering on a man in a bland gray coat and scarf who wore an impressive tricorn hat too good for his head. That man was beating upon the local woodworking apprentice who was flailing and failing to defend himself. Charlotte whistled and she twirled a strand of her medium-length brown hair at the man. "What's going on, gentlemen?"

"Keep out of this, girlie. This boy over 'ere clumsily bumped into me with a damn wooden barrel he givin' the fat bartender. Spilled me fucking drink!"

"You know, you could've just asked him to buy you a drink for compensation. Instead of trying to, y'know, break his nose."

"Don't give me fucking advice, girlie. You know who you be speakin' to right 'ere, girlie? Me, the Ropebeater! The toughest brawler in all of the land from Boston to New York! No one spills the Ropebeater's drink and goes unscathed!"

"You could try brawling your piss-poor anger management. I'd like to see who'd win."

"Oh, so you be a funny one now, girlie? Go now, girlie, before the Ropebeater turns on you! Although, if only you be a few inches shorter and dressed like a proper girly, I'd beat you in a much different way. Heh…"

There were three small things that irritated Charlotte. She was tall, only two inches shorter than her six-foot father, but she hated being criticized for her height. She also hated being called out for her more masculine style of clothing. Most of all, she hated the men who thought their poor innuendos were funny. She noticed that he had moved behind her, with his grossly large hands fondling her breasts.

"You brought it upon yourself, tough boy." Charlotte and elbowed him in the ribs.

* * *

Men were pouring out of the inn. Some screamed hysterically about the mad witch. Others were babbling incoherently, nursing their beaten body parts. The Ropebeater groaned and rubbed his head while two of his goons carried him to safety. He was sure that the bitch had knocked out at least four of his good teeth before she commanded him to leave Davenport and never return.

"Make sure that word of this never reaches Boston! I'll be ruined for sure…" he sobbed.

"You okay, Chance?" Charlotte asked as she helped up the woodworker's boy. "S-s-s-ure, Ms. Kenway!" He nervously stammered before sprinting outside. Definitely not acquainted to the female presence, she deduced.

Many tables and stools around them had been knocked over and several bottles had been smashed. The ropebeater had thought to call upon all his men when it became apparent that she was too much for him. It didn't help at all. "Sorry for the mess!" She called to the stunned innkeeper as she tossed him a sack of coins. A little bit of compensation for her damages.

Charlotte satisfyingly strolled back to the mansion where Matthew awaited, wearing the ropebeater's hat on her head. She felt an arm grab her shoulder.

Instinctively, she whirled about to deliver a chop to her attacker's neck. She refrained from delivering the blow, as she saw a decrepit man feebly cower.

"What do you want?"

"Well, y'see, I organize an annual tournament in Boston. Called the Boston Brawlers, you see. And I saw what you did there back in the inn. You ooze potential, the crowds will love ya! You could be our first ever lady champ! Just take this paper, find everyone on the list, beat on 'em and then return to me…" but Charlotte was shredding the list in front of him.

"Not interested, sweetie." and she was off.

* * *

"Where'd you get the hat?" Matthew asked as she stepped into the doorway. He was sitting behind the table, flipping half-bored through the ledger.

Charlotte raised her hand in a fist. "Care to spar, big brother? I can show you how, first hand."

"Some other time, Charlotte. I have better things to preoccupy my mind, such as the exact number of glass bottles New York ordered in 1784." Upon hearing this, Charlotte rolled her eyes.

"Are you afraid of me, big brother?" Charlotte playfully beckoned to Matthew.

"No afraid. Rather tired of you challenging me every other day and winding up pinned to the floor at my mercy."

"Tell that to the men at the bar. I took on all of them, and received nary a scratch! Nabbed a few wallets off of 'em, too."

"Likely their overconfidence played to your advantage. I've seen how comparatively worse you fare when faced against a more experienced opponent, namely myself. There's still much for you to learn, Charlotte, before you're fully ready for initiation. But enough of your battle record, Charlotte. I have some work for you."

Charlotte's ears perked at the promise of another contract to fulfill. "Do tell, big brother."

He took out a painting of an attractive red-haired woman in a turquoise dress. "This is Gillian McCarthy, a street orphan turned Templar agent. The infamous Lady Maverick. She uses her natural talents as a seductress to influence men of power, as well as gain their secrets. She'll be in the Boston North End meeting with some big government names and wealthy men. I'll need you to tail her, find out whatever she has planned. Return to us as soon as your job's done and pass along what you learned. With as little blood shed as possible."

"Why don't I just rush in and kill her? If she's as valuable to the Templars as you claim, we could benefit from taking her out in one go."

"She's quite deadly and experienced. As well as possessing quite the ruthless streak. She's rumored to have killed her parents and sold out her own brother for a can of beans. He works for us now, we offered him the assignment, but he refuses to do anything regarding her. Besides, I can't have you getting overly excited and killing her before obtaining the information we need. Confront her only as a last resort, Charlotte."

"If you insist." Charlotte tipped her head to Matthew.

"One last thing, Charlotte. Wear this, for the sake of disguising yourself. You'd be noticed immediately if you went in your normal style of dress." Matthew held out to her a dress similar to her targets, colored purple and red.

"If you insist." Charlotte replied in disgust. She left to change.

* * *

A month had passed since he had sent Charlotte off. Matthew everyday gazed from the window looking for a carriage to roll in. She had the promise of a future Assassin, but she could be frustratingly impulsive and rebellious at times. Would Connor have handled her training differently? Or would he have walked away from the Brotherhood for good, bringing his daughter with him? He wondered what might have been if his father had lived.

He heard knocking at the main doors. He rushed from his office, and to his expectations, found Charlotte leaning against the columns. She was no longer wearing the dress he had given her. Charlotte looked as if she had been through a brutal fight and had come out on the bottom.

"I assume the last resort was necessary." She hesitantly nodded at him. "Do you have what we need?"

She nodded again and spoke up. "She was onto us from the start. She let me hear some of her conversation with the man but she then slit his throat. Called me out, promised to let me have all the plans if I could best her in a fistfight." She shook her head.

"I shouldn't have let her coax me that easily. We were both bleeding and breathing hard but she had wrapped her hands around my neck. Started squeezing hard. Just when I thought it was over, she let go. Mocked me, said that a baby Assassin wasn't worthy of dying by her hand. I saw her raise a vacant mug. Next thing I remember was being lifted into the carriage by some of the local brothers while my head spun."

"You'll learn in time, Charlotte. I'll suppose we'll have to do with you learned for the moment being. Get some deserved rest, Charlotte. We'll discuss in the morning." Matthew led his sister back into the mansion.

"I thought you should know, big brother."

"What?"

"Um, that ugly dress you made me wear? I tossed over the cliffs as the road ended. I hope you didn't pay much for it."

"Do you realize how much it cost me to have it sew-" but Charlotte was off before Matthew could finish. He smiled. Even after defeat, her lighthearted attitude still seeped through.

* * *

_I worked harder after my first encounter with the "Lady Maverick" Gillian McCarthy. I trained myself to become more invisible than I had been previously. I fought more tactically. I did my best to act more reserved and diplomatic than I had been in my early years of training. Eventually, the two of us would meet again. This time I was not wearing that demeaning outfit. She never saw me coming as I flew across the rooftops and shadows of Boston. She was cleaning her knife of her latest kill. I leapt at her, my sword held high._

_She cursed me as she died. She remained incredulous, aghast that it was the "baby Assassin" who had taken her life. Regardless of her insults, I closed her eyes and gave her a few passing words as Matthew had instructed. He stepped from the shadows, having been monitoring me in case plans went awry again. He gave me a slow clap. "Congratulations on your first assassination, Charlotte."_

_One day in the mansion, Matthew called for me. We met inside the armory, where I had my first encounter with the traces of my father's life as an Assassin. He had for me a mahogany box, freshly prepared. "A favor by the woodworker's boy." he explained. I eagerly cracked it open. Within the box were two arm guards that contained blades just like my father's. Knives that popped from their bracers into your palms. Even better were the pair of clothes that were neatly folded underneath the knives. _

_White like my father's but containing accents in the perfect shade of green and black instead of blue like his had been. I excitedly slipped on my Assassin robes and hidden blades. The eagle-tipped hood fitted perfectly on my head._

"_The Assassins once had the most elaborate of induction ceremonies to celebrate a recruit's full acceptance in the Order. Fingers being chopped off, fingers being branded, hopping off giant buildings, it all happened. Your father didn't have one, I didn't have one, but it's up to you if you want me to provide an elaborate service."My brother explained to me._

"_There's no need. But I would like to try the hopping off buildings part." I remember replying._

_The wind from the sea lashed my face as I stood at the brim of the cliff. I should've been afraid, quaking in my new robes. But I wasn't. Even with the cold water looming thousands of feet below me, I felt more peaceful than I had ever been. I gazed at the renovated Aquila in the distance, captained by the grandson of my father's first mate. I took the moment to absorb the world around me. The scent of the trees, the salt of the sea, the squawking of gulls. I balanced precariously on the rocks overlooking the sea, but I felt no fear._

_I remembered closing my eyes._

_I took my leap of faith._

_It was bliss as I fell and met the surface of the water. I heard myself splash but I didn't feel the coldness of the water._

_Matthew was waiting as I climbed my way back to the mansion up the cliffs._

"_Welcome to the Assassins, Charlotte."_

_I wonder if my father would've been proud._

**I hope that you all have had as good of a time reading Connor - Requiem as I did writing it. Who knows if this is the end, though? I already have some new ideas, related to AC and other properties, under consideration - Your friendly neighborhood penguin, Jack.**


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